


Gently, Laid Down

by Anonymous



Series: Roofie AU [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Allusions to gangbang, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:40:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24656242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Damon can't stop thinking about his time with the Greyjoy boy.
Relationships: Damon Dance-for-me/Theon Greyjoy, Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy (implied)
Series: Roofie AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782676
Comments: 10
Kudos: 71
Collections: Anonymous





	Gently, Laid Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Qouinette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qouinette/gifts).



> Takes place during the Roofie AU collection.  
> As that name might tell you, the activities in this are not consensual, as much as Damon fantasizes them to be.  
> Inspired as always by Qouii. If she posts her doodles that inspired this, I'll link to them later.

“Rams, when are you gonna see him again?”

Damon stared out the passenger seat window, ignoring Skinner’s hungry voice from the backseat.

In the driver’s seat, Ramsay took a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled. The car stank of the fumes. Couldn’t lower the tinted windows, of course. Greyjoy might have seen his face, and they weren’t ready for that. Not yet. 

“I told you, not until he’s ready,” Ramsay answered, unintentionally mirroring Damon’s thoughts as he eased the car out of the lot. He was a good driver—very aware of the chunk of road he owned. Damon always felt better when he was behind the wheel and not the others. “I want to give him a little more time. He didn’t look like he’d fallen apart enough yet.”

Having interrogated him for all the information they could get from his brief encounter with Greyjoy, the boys largely left Damon alone for the drive back to the Bolton estate. That suited Damon just fine. He was thinking about sea-green eyes, red and teary, the pupils rendered massive by the roofies in his system. How delicate he’d seemed in Damon’s grip. How easily he’d bruised. 

Even the memory summoned flickers of lust in Damon’s belly, which was odd. He didn’t usually think back on the girls Ramsay found for his “hunts”, as he called them. Never felt a particular desire to fuck them again after the first time, either. Although that might have had something to do with the fact that they were usually dead after Ramsay was through with them.

It was odd, Damon reflected, that Ramsay had picked a guy this time around. He’d thought Ramsay was as straight as they came, but in hindsight, that was foolish. Ramsay liked anything that cried if you hit it hard enough. Damon was only faintly surprised that the presence of a dick hadn’t been an issue for him either.

He knew the logistics of sex with another man, of course, but the actual act was … hotter than he’d thought it would be. Tighter than a woman’s pussy. No natural wetness, so the only bit of slide came from the single packet of lubricant they’d brought and, as the night progressed, their cum.

Damon crossed his legs at the knee to hide the stirrings of interest from his groin.

Greyjoy had been vice-like tight at the rim, then a little looser once Damon had gotten further inside. He’d breathed deep and easy the whole time, totally unaware, even when his eyelids drifted open occasionally.

The flickers of lust intensified into burning coals. Damon swallowed and absently bit one of his knuckles, thinking …

A half-formed daydream sustained him through the rest of the drive, and then they were all jostling over each other as they tumbled out of the car at the Bolton estate. Damon readjusted the hard-on in his pants when they weren’t looking. 

“Where you going, Damon?” Alyn asked. They were following Ramsay into the massive entertainment center, probably to watch the horror movie that had just been released to streaming platforms. Damon wanted to watch it too, but at the moment, a very different film reel was playing in front of his eyes.

“Gotta piss,” he said, and sauntered away.

The Bolton’s bathroom on the first floor was enormous. Dark red wood panelling, so dark it seemed black in certain lights, popping against bone-white countertops and walls. It was relatively warm for a spring day in the north, so the heat had been left off. The air in the bathroom was cold, though, and smelled like the fancy-ass soaps in the crystal-cut dispenser by the sink.

Damon waited a moment to make sure the boys hadn’t followed him, then leaned against the opposite wall and undid his belt.

He was still hard from his fantasy in the car. A small wet spot had formed in his boxers. When he took himself in hand, he was so sensitive that he hissed.

A glob of spit helped the friction issue. Sighing, he relaxed his shoulders and closed his eyes against the bathroom’s bright lights. The memory drew close to him again, blurry and indistinct but gaining tantalizing shape and form with every second.

Mentally, he rewound until the moment he’d unzipped Greyjoy’s pants in that dingy little shack. The sound of Greyjoy’s zipper coming undone had struck him then, in the moment. Even now, it triggered a bolt of lust through the muscles of his lower stomach. With Greyjoy’s pants loosened around his hips, it had only been a moment’s work to pull them down all the way and whip them off his ankles. Then the same treatment for his boxers, tossed uncaringly in a grubby corner.

He thought about the first sight of Greyjoy’s cock, limp and unaroused against his thigh. Not every man was blessed with girth _and_ length — in that regard, Greyjoy was one lucky son of a bitch. Damon had him beat by half an inch, he thought, but not in width.

Not as if it really mattered; as far as Damon was concerned, a cock was a cock if it wasn’t his. But seeing Greyjoy’s dick remain totally uninterested in the proceedings, even when Damon smeared lube around his hole and fingered him … that had been hot as fuck. 

Damon’s mind skipped forward through the boring minutes of prep he’d given (not enough to lose the feeling of tightness, but enough that Greyjoy’s rim wouldn’t snap his dick off after the first shove). Then it slowed again to a crawl, lingering on the exquisite burst of sensation as Damon made the first push inwards … how tight Greyjoy had been at the rim, the odd feeling of mesh-like give around his length the further he slid in. So warm and gripping by the entrance. Wholly unlike a pussy, and not so much better or worse, just … different. 

Their initial angle hadn’t been the thing he needed, so Damon hooked Greyjoy’s limp arms and shuffled him up against the wall, forgoing the ratty mattress entirely (to the amusement and jeers of their onlookers).

Once he’d gotten Greyjoy balanced in his lap … oh, that had been beautiful. Damon didn’t consider himself much of a cuddler, but was willing to admit his fondness for handsiness during passion. He particularly enjoyed kissing while gripping a girl’s slender hands and holding them against the pillows, squeezing her hips when she tightened around him. Fucking an unconscious man was a different affair — much less of the mutual touching, obviously, but he’d made do just fine as the evening went on into the early hours.

After all, when someone had thick thighs like Greyjoy did, gods, it felt so good to spread them over his lap and imagine the sore stretch in them the next day, _mm._ The skin of Damon’s neck prickled as it recalled the sense-memory of Greyjoy’s hair tickling against it, his soft, sleepy breaths warming Damon’s shoulder. So pliant and biddable. Like a bendy straw, really.

Outside of his fantasy, he was jerking himself in slow, tight pulls that dragged the skin of his cock. Every so often he’d pause at the head to swipe a bead of pre-cum with his finger, then begin another long series of up-and-down motions. His body clamored at him to go faster, but not yet, no. He wanted this to last. It was always better when it lasted.

Inside the fantasy again. He was panting in Greyjoy’s ear now, licking at the curve of it while rolling against him. Greyjoy’s prostate was easy to find after a few minutes of fucking — it really did feel like the online forum boards described it, a walnut-sized area of spongy-ness. He angled his hips so that the head of his dick dragged persistently over that spot. If Greyjoy had been less drugged to shit, he probably would have hardened. That would have been fun to play with. Pity.

The fantasy evolved. 

Suddenly, Greyjoy’s pale eyelashes were fluttering against his cheeks as he began to wake. His eyes were still unfocused. But he could feel what Damon was doing to him, oh yes. Greyjoy made a small, soft noise — the same noise he’d made when Skinner had smacked his hips up against him roughly. His head rolled around his neck like it had the weight and heft of a bowling ball. He was still sleepy, still uncoordinated, poor thing, but he kept making those _sounds_ every time Damon’s balls slapped against the skin of his ass. 

Damon’s hand picked up speed. He was leaking steadily now, and pleasure coiled the muscles in his toes and hamstrings like a wind-up toy.

Inside the fantasy, Greyjoy’s head flopped against Damon’s sweaty temple.

“Whuzz goin’ on … ?” he slurred.

Damon shushed him, brushing his lips against Greyjoy’s damp forehead in an open-mouthed kiss.

“Just enjoy it,” he murmured, worming his hands under Greyjoy’s folded knees so he could spread them wider for a better angle.

Another soft noise, like Greyjoy was scared but too out of it to say so. Damon bit his lip and snapped his hips harder, straining under the feeling of Greyjoy’s muscles rippling around him, sucking him in. Gods. It was like getting deep-throated _while_ fucking someone at the same time. Damon pulled out all the way and then shoved back in, pushing through that initial reflexive clench with his tongue between his teeth.

Grejoy really came alive, then.

“Stop,” he rasped, batting clumsily at Damon’s flank. It was so light it didn’t even register as a blow. Damon nosed down the length of Greyjoy’s stretched neck, licking and sucking his Adam’s apple. 

“Shh,” he kept saying, sticking one hand between them so he could thumb at Greyjoy’s cock. “Shh, just go back to sleep, let me just …”

For a moment, Greyjoy stilled, slipping back into the drugged haze, but then he was moving restlessly again—Damon’s mind spun its wheels momentarily, deciding which track the fantasy should go—and he was moaning now, like a girl, quiet, high-pitched sounds that were punched out of him by each thrust. 

“Unh,” he said, open-mouthed as he tipped his head back against the wall. “Unh, _unh_ , Damon!”

“You like that,” Damon panted into his ear, hoisting Greyjoy higher in his lap. He paused to perform a few circles with his hips, ones that tugged teasingly on Greyjoy’s sensitive, puffy rim. “I knew you would. It’s okay, just let it feel good.”

“Damon!” Greyjoy sobbed, writhing, clutching at Damon’s back. And he was still making those incredible noises, and his hips were flexing weakly, canting up to meet each thrust—

“Ah, fuck,” Damon said aloud, biting his bottom lip as he came all over himself. Involuntarily, he rose up on his tip-toes and fucked into the loose circle of his fingers, riding the waves of white-hot pleasure as they blotted out all thought.

Finally, his climax eased, and he relaxed against the wall. His shirt had ridden up in the back and the paint felt humid against his sweaty skin. For a moment, he stood there, breathing heavily as the power of the fantasy faded. Then he combed his bangs out of his eyes and cleaned himself up with a wad of tissues before exiting the bathroom.  
  



End file.
